Devil's Claw (27 page)

Margaret Dixon held out her hand. She smiled a thin smile. “How do you do. Glad to meet you, Joanna. I’ve got my fingers crossed. Let’s hope the third time’s the charm.”

Joanna saw the muscles tighten along Butch’s jawline. “Mother!” he said.

“I’m sure Joanna knows what I mean,” Maggie Dixon said quickly, waving away his comment as though it were a bothersome fly. “No doubt the two of you will be very happy. And since Butch is getting such a late start on settling down, it’s probably a good thing you come complete with a ready-made family.”

For months Butch had been hinting to Joanna that his mother was a difficult woman. He had warned that, in a competition of relative prickliness, Maggie Dixon would run Eleanor Lathrop Winfield a close race. Joanna had laughed off his comments, saying he was probably exaggerating or making things up. Now, all it took was that one exchange for Joanna to realize he was right. Maggie Dixon was going to be tough to like. Across the table and behind Maggie’s back, even the perpetually easygoing Eva Lou Brady felt constrained to shake her head and raise a disapproving eyebrow.

Never one to retreat from a battle, Joanna motioned Butch to take a seat next to Eva Lou. Then, raising her skirt, she stepped over the picnic bench and sat down next to Maggie. Wanting to give Butch a chance to relax, Joanna dived into the task of making polite conversation.

“So how do you like Cochise County so far?” she asked as evenly as she could manage.

“It is warm,” Maggie replied. “I’ll say that much for it, and it’s so dry here. My skin feels like it’s going to turn brittle and break off. I’m used to a lot more humidity. My mother and her second husband retired out here,” she continued. “They bought a place up in Sun City. That’s how Butch ended up coming out here years ago. But as far as I’m concerned, I could never see what it was about the desert that appealed to my mother so much, and it’s such a long way from home. And now that Donald’s retired from the post office, we prefer to spend our winters in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Ever been there?”

Suddenly the idea that Arizona was a long way away from both Chicago and Hot Springs, Arkansas, held some appeal for Joanna Brady.
Good,
she found herself thinking.
Let’s keep it that way.

“So how do you like being sheriff?” Maggie Dixon continued without bothering to wait for an answer. “That sounds like a difficult job for a woman. And isn’t it dangerous?”

“At times, it’s a difficult job for anyone—man or woman,” Joanna replied. “And yes, it can be dangerous, but that can also be true of any job. You have to keep your wits about you.”

“Well,” Maggie said, shaking her head. “From what Butch writes about you and says on the phone, I can tell he’s very proud of you. But you won’t keep doing this, will you—I mean after you’re married?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you know how it is. It’s the man’s job to support his family. And then, if you got pregnant . . .”

Butch got up abruptly. “I think I’ll go see if Eleanor needs any help,” he said, leaving the battle of the picnic table under Joanna’s sole direction.

Maggie turned and watched him go. “Now I suppose my son will be mad at me,” she mused. “He’s always accusing me of being nosy. But these are the kinds of things people need to talk about
before
they get married, not
after
. And I’m sure that’s the mistake Butch made before—the other times he got married. He went into those relationships with no idea at all of what he really wanted. Of course, the first time, he and Debbie were both much too young. And with Faith, I don’t think either one of them thought ahead very much, either. Faith’s a very nice girl,” Maggie added. “We still stay in touch from time to time. I’m sure you’d like her. She and her husband just had their second child—a little boy. I meant to mention that to Butch.”

Months earlier, about the time Butch had asked Joanna to marry him, he had told her about his first two marriages and what had happened to them. She remembered all too well Butch relating the tale of his bitter divorce from a woman named Faith who had taken him to the cleaners both financially and emotionally as she abandoned ship in order to marry her husband’s soon-to-be-former best friend.

Don’t bother telling him,
Joanna thought.
That’s the last thing he needs to know!

“Well?” Maggie asked. “Are you?”

Her tone implied that there was an unanswered question lingering in the air, one Joanna had somehow failed to hear.

“Am I what?” Joanna returned.

“Are you and Butch planning on having kids?” Maggie prodded. “The magazines are always filled with articles about women and their ticking biological clocks, but I think men’s do, too. And at Butch’s age—”

“Come and get it while it’s hot,” George Winfield announced as he walked by the table carrying a platter piled high with strips of broiled flank steak. “We’re serving this buffet-style,” he added. “Come into the kitchen and fill your plates. Those who want to can come back outside to eat.”

“Let me give you a hand, Maggie,” Don Dixon said, stopping by the table to help his wife rise from the picnic bench. While Don led Maggie into the house, Eva Lou stood up and wordlessly gave Joanna a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as she walked by. Meanwhile, a stunned Joanna stayed where she was. With a last flourish of trumpets, the mariachi music faded to nothing and the boom box clicked off, leaving the backyard in welcome silence.

“Are you all right?” Butch whispered near her ear a few moments later. “Would you like something to drink?”

Joanna shook her head. “I don’t think George and Eleanor have anything strong enough,” she returned.

Butch shook his head. “I can’t believe she said that—the third one’s the charm. She’s something else, isn’t she?” he added. “It’s like that old saying about how absence makes the heart grow fonder. When I’m not around her, I always end up convincing myself that my mother can’t possibly be as bad as I remember. Then, once we get within shouting distance of one another, it all comes back to me. Believe me, it’s no accident my grandparents wound up retiring to Sun City. I’m pretty sure my stepgrandfather was looking for a way to get away from his stepdaughter. I don’t think he or Grandma were the least bit unhappy that Mother hated Arizona. It seemed to suit both of them just fine.”

“No wonder Eleanor doesn’t bother you,” Joanna said. “She may be a piker at times, but right now she seems mild by comparison.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along,” Butch said with a rueful grin. “I told you that you just didn’t know when you were well off.”

Jenny came to the back door and stuck her head outside. “Aren’t you two going to come inside and fill your plates?”

“In a minute,” Butch called back, then he turned to Joanna. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, really,” Joanna said. “Maggie takes some getting used to, is all. And how did we end up out here in the yard? Mother hates barbecuing and picnics and all the bugs that go with them. And she’s not that fond of Mexican food, either. That’s why I didn’t worry about not changing clothes. I figured we were in for one of Mother’s six-course sit-down extravaganzas.”

“That was before she caught sight of my mother’s hefty backside,” Butch said. “I think the thought of Mother sitting on one of Eleanor’s fine dining room chairs was enough to spark an instant change of menu and venue both. That’s also about the time Eleanor decided to invite Jim Bob and Eva Lou along for the ride. I think she hoped they’d serve as leavening agents, but when I met Eva Lou on her way inside a few minutes ago, even she looked like she’d had enough.”

“How do you tolerate her?” Joanna asked.

Butch shrugged. “I live in Arizona, and my parents live in Chicago,” he said. Behind them, Joanna heard the back door slam. “Here they come,” he added. “We’d better go fill our plates.”

By the time Joanna and Butch reached the head of the serving line, everyone but George Winfield had abandoned the kitchen in favor of outside dining. George stood at the counter dealing out plates loaded with meat, tortillas, and steaming, freshly made tamales.

“How are the love birds doing?” he asked, as Joanna and Butch paused by the counter and began dishing up condiments.

“Fine,” Butch and Joanna both said at once, then they burst out laughing.

“Sure you are,” George agreed. “For somebody getting the third degree, you’re both in great shape. Hey, would you two like to sit inside? My guess is the picnic table is already full to overflowing.”

It was true. Six was the maximum number of diners that could be accommodated at the wooden outdoor table. “But won’t Eleanor be pissed?” Joanna asked.

“Let her,” George said with a shrug. “After all, doing dinner this way was her bright idea. There’s no reason we should all have to suffer.”

In the end, the three of them settled at the kitchen table. The food was good. The tamales were thick and spicy. The tortillas were soft and see-through thin. And the strips of ancho-flavored steak had been grilled to spicy perfection. Until Joanna put the first bite of food in her mouth, she had no idea how hungry she was. For several minutes Butch, Joanna, and George ate in companionable silence.

“Your old friend Fran Daly was in town today,” George said at last when he paused from eating long enough to unwrap the corn husks from his tamale.

Dr. Daly was the assistant medical examiner in neighboring Pima County. In the course of the past few years she and Joanna had been involved in several different joint investigations. After a somewhat rocky start, the two women had come to have a good working relationship.

“What for?” Joanna asked.

“She showed up to be Reba Singleton’s hired gun,” George Winfield replied.

“To do Clayton Rhodes’ autopsy?” Joanna asked. George nodded. “How’d it go?”

“Pretty much the way I said it would,” George replied. “Fran Daly says the same thing I did—Clayton Rhodes died as a result of a cerebral hemorrhage. That should get Reba off your back for good and all. And now that I’ve released the body and Little Norm Higgins from the funeral home has collected it, Reba should be off my back, too.”

“When’s the funeral?” Joanna asked.

“According to Little Norm, they’ve scheduled it for tomorrow at two. Reba says she wants to have it ASAP so she can get back home to California, which is good riddance as far as I’m concerned.” He added, “And while we’re on the subject of autopsies, I know what killed Sandra Ridder—loss of blood combined with peritonitis. If the Volksmarchers had found her in the morning and she’d been treated with massive doses of antibiotics, she might have made it. But as it was . . .” George shrugged.

Joanna glanced at Butch to see how he was handling this graphic dinnertime discussion. Chewing thoughtfully, he seemed unfazed.

“Will you be going to Clayton’s funeral?” he asked Joanna, as if just then becoming aware of a pause in the previous conversation.

She nodded. “Yes, of course I am.”

“And Jenny?”

“I don’t know. I’ll leave that up to her. When we first talked about it, I know she was planning on going. Why?”

“I want to take the folks out sight-seeing tomorrow,” Butch said. “It’s better than having my mother prowling around my house all day, looking through drawers and opening my cupboards. Besides, they’ve never been in southern Arizona. I wanted to show them the sights—the Wonderland of Rocks, Boot Hill, maybe even Kartchner Caverns.”

“Sounds like a big day.”

Butch nodded. “I’m hoping to wear them out. Maybe that way they’ll be ready to go back out to the park at a decent hour in order to get some sleep. But if I have to be back in time to take care of Jenny after school . . .”

“Don’t worry about Jenny, Butch,” Joanna told him. “She’ll probably go to the funeral with me. And, if need be, she can come out to the department after that and stay until it’s time to go home.”

“Good,” Butch said. “That’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

Just then Eleanor stormed into the kitchen. “Just what do you three think you’re doing hiding out in here?”

“Eating,” George replied mildly.

“But the company is outside,” Eleanor huffed. “We’re all supposed to be out there together, so we can get better acquainted.”

“I’m sure Butch knows his parents well enough,” George returned. “But Joanna and I needed a little time to talk business. I didn’t think you’d want your company meal disrupted by discussion about autopsies and such.”

Eleanor’s face fell. “You weren’t really, were you, George?” She turned to Butch. “Is he telling me the truth? Were they really talking about autopsies at the dinner table?”

Butch sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say they were, Eleanor. I swear to God!”

“Well!” she exclaimed. “I never!”

With that, Eleanor Winfield turned and flounced back outside, missing Butch’s grin and George Winfield’s answering wink. “I’ll pay for that later,” he said. “But it was worth it.”

By then, though, Joanna’s conscience was beginning to bother her. “Shouldn’t someone go rescue Eva Lou and Jim Bob?”

“Naw,” George said. “Don’t worry. Those two have been around. They’re perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.”

CHAPTER 17